Tales from the Nexus
by AntaresTheEighthPleiade
Summary: A compiliation of DGC drabbles and one-shots. Most will involve Alfred. Individual summaries on my profile.
1. First Flight

Disclaimer: I do not own the Death Gate Cycle. If I did, it would have 80% more Alfred!

This is Alfred's POV during his fight with the Royal One in _Serpent Mage_.

* * *

Green and gold, huge and powerful, a dragon soared through Chelestra's aquamarine skies. Below him, a stunned dwarf-maid gaped up at the mighty creature. Her lips parted in a silent gasp, amazed by the magic that had brought forth the dragon.

For it was not a true dragon which dominated the skies. The dragon-shape had been borrowed by a clumsy Sartan called Alfred. His true name was Coren, the Serpent Mage. Alfred had shape-shifted for one reason: to save the lives of two children and his ancestral enemy, the Patryn Haplo.

Keen golden eyes peered downward, where Haplo and the two mensh children were. With a start, the dragon realized that Haplo and the human girl were down. Only the elven lad and Haplo's remarkable black dog remained standing. Relief surged through Coren's blood: as long as the dog was alive, Haplo was too.

Coren's shadow passed over the wounded Patryn. Haplo, the dog by his side, looked up. His jaw dropped, eyes widened. His dog danced around him in jubilant affection.

But the dragon could not waste time contemplating his associate's (friend's?) health. Their enemy, the dragon-snakes, must be dealt with. Screaming a warning, he dove down low, towards the dragon-snakes- only to flare upwards at the last moment. He flew in a tight circle, dove again, this time with a specific target in mind.

It was surprisingly easy to pierce the king snake's flesh. Long golden claws entered, tore, ripped. The monster contorted, its muscles squiriming like dying worms, trying vainly to escape the dragon's claws. It spewed venom, hoping to hit the dragon's vulnerable eyes.

Alarm surged through Coren. Most of his body was covered in green armor-like scales, but his eyes could be wounded. He jerked his head aside. The poison missed.

The Royal One was fighting, struggling. It knew it would die unless it dislodged the dragon. The other dragon-snakes, seeing their king in mortal danger, overcame their shocked terror and began to approach.

Coren sighed silently. He had hoped to finish this quickly, but it was not to be. He extended his golden wings. With a mighty effort, he lifted himself and the king snake off the ground.

Coren had done many difficult things in his life. He had raised the dead (though he'd only just remembered and would soon forget again), he had infiltrated the Nexus, he had crossed the Fire Sea of dead Abarrach, but never before had he felt such physical strain. The dragon-snake in his claws had grown fat and strong from torturing its seamoon home. And it was struggling, thrashing about in its captor's claws, making Coren's task even more difficult. But somehow, some way, the Sartan-turned-dragon persevered. Higher and higher he soared, and when he was high enough, he released his burden.

The king snake fell. It cursed the dragon, pleaded, but Coren did not dive down and save it. The dragon-snakes were monsters, and he would do nothing to help them.

Finally, the king snake crashed into Draknor. The seamoon quaked at the impact. Then, as if taking revenge for all the pain the dragon-snakes had inflicted, it sent a mountain down on the Royal One's shattered corpse.

Coren would never be sure, but at the moment the dragon-snake died, he thought he heard the seamoon's whisper of gratitude.

He circled overhead. The dragon-snakes were getting over their shock at his appearance, starting to conspire against him. He could hear their voices but not their words. It worried him. Coren was powerful, but even he could not hope to defeat them all. If they forced him into battle, he and Haplo and the mensh children would die.

Fortunately, the dragon-snakes were cowards. Not one of them wanted to risk itself against the dragon. They turned back, tried to retreat to their lair.

Joy surged in Coren's chest. They were still disorganized, still weak. He dove down, raking his claws across their backs, nipping at their necks with his fangs. Blood, acid and foul, covered his tongue and teeth.

Not one dragon-snake fought back. Instead, they retreated faster to their safe haven.

Coren spun around. He knew he didn't have much time before the dragon-snakes reorganized a counterattack. He needed to talk to Haplo, to make the Patryn retreat.

As he came nearer, a chill spread through him. The human girl hadn't moved… she was dead! Misery, agony inflicted him. He had saved Haplo and the elf, but he had arrived too late to save the poor girl.

Then the pain became resolve. No more lives would be lost! He hovered in front of Haplo, wondering how to communicate. An image blossomed in his mind: one of the fire dragons of Abarrach, her voice speaking in his mind. Telepathy. He was currently one of her kin; he shared the ability.

_You are wounded. Yet you must find the strength to return to your ship. The dragon-snakes are disorganized for the moment, but they will soon regroup and I do not have the power to fight them all. _Oh, how true that was.

Haplo stood, staggered. The elf ran to him, supported the wounded Patryn. For a few seconds Haplo stood there, his face pained and strained, weak as he'd been in Kleitus' prison, before he took a tentative step. Suddenly he stopped, choked out a word. "Alake…" His pain-filled eyes dropped to the human corpse, then glanced towards the dragon-snakes.

A new wave of pain assaulted the dragon. Alake… it was a strong name, a beautiful name. He had no doubt that it had suited her well. Somehow, he managed to reply. _I will care for her. Have no fear. They will not disturb her rest. _Coren had not saved Alake's life, but he would save her body from desecration!

Haplo, still using the elf-lad as support, staggered away. Coren hovered above Alake's body, reached for his magic. He was pleasantly surprised to learn that it still worked even when he was in dragon-form. That would prove useful later on.

A tomb of stunning beauty blossomed around Alake's form. The base was marble, covered in royal purple velvet. Alake lay atop it, a sad, peaceful smile on her face. Flowers covered her legs and feet- and the hideous bite wound which had killed her. He topped it with a covering of pure crystal, transparent yet strong.

The entire structure was surrounded by blazing Sartan runes. No dragon-snake would come near the dead princess.

Coren knew that he should leave, but he remained for just a few seconds more. _I'm sorry,_ he whispered to the princess. _I'm so sorry… but this I swear to you: I will not fail again._

His heart was heavy as he flew back to Grundle. Coren knew what would happen when he returned to Sartan form: he would become Alfred again, clumsy, bumbling, a coward. He would not remember his broad beautiful wings, his long arching neck. He would not remember his thrilling, terrifying fight against the dragon-snakes. He would not remember the dead princess- or the dead king. He would not remember the wonder in Haplo's eyes, the jubilant affection of the dog. He would not remember a thing.

Heaving a silent sigh, the dragon hovered just a few feet above the beach. Grundle looked at him with huge eyes. Her mouth was open in a tiny _O_.

The dragon sighed again, slipped out of his powerful body, out of Coren, back to Alfred.

It was Alfred who denied his usefulness to Grundle, Alfred who went meekly along with Samah. His heart was heavy, mourning a loss he didn't fully understand- or remember. But somewhere, deep inside of the bumbling Sartan, Coren stirred.

That night, Alfred dreamed of dragons.


	2. Mirth

Disclaimer: still don't own DGC.

* * *

Whenever Headman Vasu of Abri and the Nexus vanished, he could be found in front of the Final Gate. Petitioners would never bother him there- they knew his anxiety for those still trapped in the Labyrinth. Some Nexus-dwellers claimed that Vasu took his vigil more often when certain people went into the prison maze, but their claims could never be proven.

One day, sitting alone in front of the Final Gate, Vasu was startled to hear gales of laughter from within the threshold. He jumped up, frightened. It sounded like someone had just come down with a nasty case of the sickness- he'd better tell someone to get a time well ready.

The laughing person exited the Labyrinth, and Vasu was horrified to see that it was Haplo. The Rescuer was leaning on Marit's arm, unable to walk independently because of his mirth. An instant later, the Gate opened again. Alfred Montbank walked out, his face red and petulant.

Marit grinned at him. Suppressed laughter made her shoulders shake. Vasu relaxed. If Haplo was laughing at Alfred, there was no need to worry. No time wells were necessary.

"It's not," Alfred muttered, "funny. It's not funny _at all._"

"Of course not, Alfred," Marit agreed serenely. "I think it's sweet- and very romantic. You two will be so happy together." She doubled over, very nearly dropped Haplo. Both Patryns howled with laughter.

Alfred was horrified. "I- but- _romantic!_- preposterous- absurd…" He shuddered, glared at his laughing comrades. "That was _not funny!"_

Haplo and Marit just laughed harder. Alfred glared at them. "If you two don't stop that I- I'll- I'll cast a silencing spell on you!" Vasu's eyes widened. _Alfred_ was making threats? Horribly ineffective threats, to be sure, but still technically threats.

Somehow, Marit managed to pull herself together- though her face was still highly amused. "So," she teased, "when's the wedding?"

"_Wedding!" _

"Yes, wedding." Marit's grin was positively wicked.

"There isn't going to _be _a wedding!"

"Yes," Marit agreed, "you should probably get to know each other first."

Haplo had managed to recover from his uncontrollable laughter. "I'll be your best man!"

Alfred glared at him. "_You're _no help at all."

Vasu chuckled. Three startled faces turned and looked at him.

"Headman!" exclaimed Alfred, horrified. The Sartan's face turned a fascinating shade of red. "I- we- we didn't see you there!"

"I gathered that," Vasu replied dryly. "Care to tell me what's so funny?"

Alfred made an incoherent sputtering sound. Haplo and Marit grinned. "Alfred's in love," Haplo announced.

The Sartan's eyes bulged. His jaw dropped. "Headman, don't listen to them. I most certainly am-"

"See?" Marit interrupted. "He just confessed it."

Vasu turned to the full-blooded Sartan. "Who's the lucky lady?"

"There _is _no lucky lady! I hate Labyrinth dragons!"

Vasu choked. Haplo and Marit collapsed again. "Labyrinth dragon?"

Alfred reddened, looked miserably at his Patryn friends. "You'll never let me live this down, will you?"

"_Labyrinth dragon?"_ Vasu repeated incredulously.

Alfred's face could have cooked eggs. "Yes, Labyrinth dragon," he sighed. "One of them just tried to flirt with me."

* * *

Poor Alfred. I'll have to write something extra-nice to make it up to him.

The reasoning behind this one-shot: as we hear repeatedly in the books, Alfred makes a very good-looking dragon. It actually makes sense that a lady dragon would notice that.

You might want to re-read the story, now that you actually know the meaning behind Marit and Haplo's jokes. Just a suggestion.


	3. Almost Sartan

Yep, I'm back- with an OC! Everyone, meet Loki, son of Ramu (yes, the books do say that Ramu has a wife and at least one kid. They just never introduced 'em). I named Loki after the Norse god of mischief and tricks, and little Loki is about to live up to his name.

Disclaimer: A long time ago, I realized that I would only own the DGC when pigs flew. So now I'm going to genetically engineer a winged pig! But until I'm successful, I don't and won't own the Death Gate Cycle.

* * *

"I am _not_ afraid!" Loki, son of Ramu, shouted.

"Course you are," his friend and rival Kuru teased. "The Councillor's son is afraid of Patryns!" Their other friends grinned at one another, hid laughter behind their hands.

"I am _not_ afraid," Loki repeated, quietly this time.

"Uhhh-huh."

"I'm not!"

Kuru grinned. "Have you ever even seen a Patryn?" she asked smugly.

"I have so," Loki declared. "My father's the head Councillor, remember? Every once in a while the Patryn's leader- Valu or Vas or something- sends an emissary over to our house. Father always sends it away, of course, but I've seen more Patryns than the load of you combined!"

"With your father around," Kuru interjected smoothly. "I bet you couldn't face one on your own if your life depended on it!"

If there was one thing that Loki son of Ramu couldn't stand, it was being called a coward. "I can too!" he yelled. "And I'll prove it to you." A plan hatched in his mind- something that would put to eternal rest all these unfounded accusations. He grinned.

Kuru raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And how will you do that?"

Loki smirked at her. "I'll walk right into the Nexus and bring back proof!"

Gasps followed Loki's proclamation. Then a cry was heard. His sister Ria, her eyes filled with tears, ran up to him. "But they'll _kill _you!" she wailed.

"She's right," another child agreed. "The Patryns capture misbehaving Sartan children and boil them in their soup pots! My mother told me so!"

"Well _I_ heard that they catch Sartan and use us for experiments!"

"No, they brainwash us and make us their slaves! That's what happened to everyone who stayed in their city."

"See!" wailed Ria. "They'll kill you!" Even Kuru was looking nervous.

Loki smiled reassuringly, but on the inside, he was growing afraid. What if the rumors were true? What if he was eaten, or experimented on, or brainwashed? He didn't think he'd like doing any of those things… but he couldn't back down, not without losing major face in front of his playmates. He smiled again, patted Ria on the head. "I'll be fine," he promised (and hoped). "And don't you dare tell Father about this!" A part of him hoped that she would disobey and that Ramu would put a stop to the entire thing, but she smiled trustingly at him and he knew that she would not speak a word.

After a bit more discussion, the children decided that it was too late in the day for Loki to go to the Patryns. They'd send him off tomorrow.

It seemed to Loki that time passed too quickly, stolen by his anxiety. He had lived in the Nexus for six of his ten years, but he'd never faced a Patryn one-on-one before. He hadn't even gawked at the Patryn emissaries for very long before Ramu banished him to his room.

Before he knew it, morning had arrived. The children gathered at their usual meeting place, but today they were solemn and afraid. Kuru approached him. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she whispered. "No one will think badly if you don't."

Loki shook his head. Fear rose inside him like bile, but he would not be called a coward. "The city is that way," he said, pointing to the west. He set off to his fame- or his doom.

The Patryns and their Sartan allies (or brainwashed slaves) had done a fine job of rebuilding the Nexus. Their city was beautiful, a hazy piece of dreams. Their multihued towers kissed the skies behind creamy marble walls. In the heart of the city, an immense palatial structure rose above all the other buildings. It mixed the best of both cultures: the Sartans' love of beauty, and the Patryns' practically combining to create the new Nexus.

Loki had never seen anything more terrifying in all his life.

Somehow, he managed to enter the frightening place. The guards at the gate were not very concerned about a child; they just checked his eyes and let him right in.

So now Loki was in the Nexus, but he had no idea how to get what his proof. His friends had just told him to take something from the Patryns' city, something that could only have come from there, but what should he bring back?

Well, Loki decided, I should probably just grab as the first Patryn thing I see. But… what's so Patryn that it can't be mistaken for something Sartan?

While he had been thinking, his feet had been taking him far away. When Loki made his decision, he looked up and realized that he was in a completely different part of the city. The walls seemed very far away.

The young Sartan froze, terrified. He had gone too far in! He had no idea where he was, his only guide the distant walls- and in enemy territory! What would the Patryns do when they realized their worst enemy's son was in their clutches? What would Ramu do when he realized that his firstborn had been captured?

To his horror, Loki felt tears spring to his eyes. Forget the dare! Better to have his life and no proof than proof and no life. He turned around, prepared to run, stopped. No. He couldn't run; the Patryns would see and be suspicious. He had to tread slowly…

Somehow, Loki managed a sedate pace for three streets. But then…

"Hey!" called a high-pitched voice. "You! Do you want to play stickball?"

Loki spun around, eyes wide. A group of about twenty children, Patryn and Sartan, stood in a street adjacent to the one he was walking down. They looked at him with hopeful, expectant eyes.

_What should I do?_ the panicked child wondered. _I can't stay here- I have to get back home! But what will they do if I don't agree with them? _

He might have stood there all day, pondering his answer, but one of the ball players mistook the cause of his hesitation. "D'you know how?" a freckle-faced Patryn girl asked. Loki shook his head, mute. The girl's eyes widened. "Then we have to teach you!" she exclaimed.

Before Loki knew it, he was surrounded by the group of children. They seemed quite happy as they explained the rules to him, each one talking on top of the others. They pushed Loki onto one of the teams. "Just catch the ball Luke," his teammates ordered, using the "public name" that Loki had given them.

Loki was terrible at stickball. When it was his turn to "bat," he missed struck out; when the ball flew his way, it slipped right through his hand; when he ran after the other team, he fell behind them. But the game gave him something to focus on besides his fear of Patryns.

One game turned into two, and two into three, and three into four. As the day went on, Loki noticed something strange happening to him. His terror… lessened. After all, the Patryns hadn't done anything nasty. They hadn't marinated him or splayed his guts an altar to some dark god. They seemed… almost Sartan.

In their fifth game, they were interrupted by a man's voice. "Kids, it's time to eat!" The voice was high-pitched, and it spoke in the Sartan rune-language. With a start, Loki realized that he had stayed in the Nexus all afternoon. His father was going to kill him!

Hathor, the Patryn girl who had invided Loki to play, noticed his look. Her expression became embarrassed. "Kept you too long, huh?" she asked apologetically.

Loki nodded, glanced around wildly. "But," he admitted, "I don't know how to get to the gates. I can find my way home from there, but…"

Hathor nodded, turned to the door. "Grandfather!" she called. "Luke doesn't know how to get back!"

Loki's face burned. Did she really need to shout?

"Oh?" the "grandfather" asked, walking out of the house. He was a tall and gangling Sartan, very thin, with blue eyes and a bald spot. His face was kind, though, and sympathetic. "Well, Luke, would you like me to help?"

Perhaps because this man was a (not-eaten-not-brainwashed) Sartan, perhaps because Loki was beginning to trust the Nexus-dwellers, the boy nodded. "I just need to go to the gate," he explained. "I can find my way home from there."

The man nodded, walked closer. "Follow me," he instructed pleasantly.

"Wait!" Hathor exclaimed suddenly. She ran up to Loki and handed him the stickball bat. "Keep practicing stickball. I expect to see you again, and you'd better have improved by then!"

Loki blinked. His Sartan guide laughed. "And your parents expect _you_ to go inside and eat." Hathor grinned at him, but obediently ran off.

Loki and his guide- who introduced himself as Alfred- were off. Alfred was smiling. "I haven't seen Hathor that happy since her first day in the Nexus," he said.

The younger Sartan blinked, surprised at how glad that made him. "Oh." Now that he was away from the children, his earlier anxiety was coming back. What kind of a Sartan willingly lived with Patryns?

"Here's the gate," Alfred said, interrupting Loki's thoughts.

Loki nodded, facing another dilemma. He couldn't leave the city without arousing Alfred's suspicion, but he couldn't stay in the Nexus, either. He glanced up at Alfred's face and saw that the old man was smiling.

"You can leave," Alfred said, gesturing to the gate. "I'm sure that Ramu will be very worried about you."

Loki's jaw dropped. His first impulse was to deny everything, but one look at Alfred's knowing smile killed that plan. Instead, he asked, "What- how…?"

Loki could have sworn that Alfred's eyes moistened. "I knew your grandparents," the elder Sartan explained, his voice husky. "Samah and Orla- you look very much like her…"

"Oh," Loki said again, for there wasn't much else he could say. Alfred was looking at him with an expression of deep sorrow, of loss. Loki gestured at the gate. "Well… thank you for bringing me back… and can you thank Hathor for the bat?" Alfred nodded.

Loki, bat in hand, walked through the Nexus gates, eyes gazing homeward. He was going to be in so much trouble… but it had been worth it. Yes (and here his hands tightened around the bat) most definitely worth it.

Within the walls, Alfred sighed, smiled. "Yes," he murmured, "very much like her."

* * *

I actually didn't expect it to turn out that way. Oh well. Just goes to show you- never trust a plot bunny.

Loki is like Orla because he was willing to give the Patryns a chance.

R&R, everyone

-Antares


	4. Iridal, Part 1

Ever wondered what Alfred was doing while Haplo was running around Pryan? The books tell us that he was running around Arianus with Iridal, looking for Bane. I've always been curious about what it was like for Iridal, traveling with that most unusual demigod…

Disclaimer: Don't own DGC. I still haven't gengineered that flying pig…

* * *

Arianus: world of air. World of floating coralite islands; of crystal trees; world of great dragons. World of the marvelous Kiksey-winsy, of elven revolts, of dwarves rising up against their ancestral masters. World of changelings, of wizards, of magic.

And the world of one lone Sartan who really was not very Sartan-like.

Iridal stared blankly at the man in front of her. _Alfred, _a _Sartan?_ She didn't believe it- and yet she'd seen him working the rune-magic, seen him work spells on a dragon…

And Hugh…

Iridal's mind jerked away from that thought. The image of his dead body was still too painful, too horrible, even if Alfred had fixed that.

Alfred seemed to be trying very hard not to look at Iridal. He clumsily puttered around the quicksilver dragon that they'd taken from the High Realms, speaking quietly to it in a language Iridal didn't understand. He glanced back at Iridal, winced, looked away. Then he began to dance and sing.

Even though she'd seen the transformation before, Iridal was still stunned. Alfred was no longer the clumsy and rather pathetic man she'd met in her husband's castle; he was something powerful and capable. Why, she wondered, did he even bother to keep pretending? She knew he was a Sartan, after all.

The dragon's head drooped. Soon it was sleeping, and Alfred was Alfred again. He looked up at her sheepishly, apparently at a loss for words. "Ah…." His feet were doing strange things of their own volition, shuffling in and out. The Sartan did not meet Iridal's gaze. "I… I suppose… you want an explanation?"

"Very much, er…." The mysteriarch trailed off. What was the proper title for a Sartan? Lord, Majesty, Highness?

Alfred's eyes widened as if with horror. "Alfred!" he exclaimed wildly. "Alfred! That's my _only _name!" Iridal jumped back, frightened. Was it possible for a Sartan to go insane?1 The man's eyes widened again, an expression of shame coming over his face. "I'm sorry," he said morosely. "I… I just…" How could he explain that his life had just fallen apart? His people were dead, his secret was out, his ancient enemy had returned. "I've had a long day," he finished lamely.

Iridal smiled wryly, sympathetic to this demigod. "As have I," she returned politely. Then, to change the subject, said, "You mentioned an explanation…"

Alfred's head jerked up. "Oh! Yes! But perhaps we should move away from the dragon."

Iridal nodded. As they walked, she noted that Alfred continued his human charade. He kept tripping over rocks, fallen branches, roots, his own feet when nothing else was available. He made so much commotion that the mysteriarch was surprised their dragon hadn't woken up yet. "You don't have to keep acting," she reminded him. "I do know that you're… not what you appear." Iridal didn't know if she could say _that word_ yet. It was still too big a shock.

Alfred ducked his reddening face, hit his head on a low-hanging branch. Iridal might have laughed- if he hadn't possessed the ability to reduce her to ashes. "Actually," the Sartan murmured, "it's… it'snotanact."

The mysteriarch blinked. "What?"

"It's not an act," repeated the red-faced Alfred. He grimaced, sighed. "There was a time I could control it, but not anymore!"

It was as if a dam had broken within him. Words burst from his mouth, tumbling over one another in their haste to escape. Words like "death," "lonely," "pain." Words that probably made very little sense to Iridal- for he was babbling, he knew he was babbling; yet he couldn't bring himself to stop- but spoken in a tone that was very difficult to _not _understand. All his pain, all his longing and loneliness and misery, escaped in those incoherent words.

And somewhere, deep inside, something began to heal.

Iridal gaped at Alfred. Tears were running down his agonized face. The mystriarch's mind struggled to comprehend what the Sartan was saying. "Dead?" she repeated quietly. "The Sartan, dead?"

Alfred did not answer; she doubted he'd even heard. He was still telling the story, his words choked with sobs. It was probably, Iridal realized, the first time he'd ever shared his pain.

Pity enveloped her. Demigod or no (and it looked like the latter), Alfred was the loneliest person on Arianus. Poor man… she couldn't imagine bearing his burden. Tears came to her own eyes.

By now, Alfred's words had vanished completely, swallowed by the sobs that wracked his frame. Iridal walked over, patted his shoulder, murmured nonsense words. "There now… it will be all right…"

Finally, the grieving Sartan regained control of himself. He took out his handkerchief, wiped his eyes and nose. "I'm sorry." His voice quavered, interrupted by spasmodic hiccups. "I didn't mean to do this… thank you."

Iridal nodded. What else could she do?

* * *

1 Makes me wonder how she'd react to Zifnab….

Okay, now I'm sad. I didn't expect it to turn out that way. Poor Alfred… I really have to do something nice for him.

Alfred freaked out about his name because he thought that Iridal was covertly asking for his Sartan name, not trying to figure out how to address a Sartan. He started crying because he hasn't EVER talked about what happened, and it was understandably an emotional experience for him. Alfred hadn't had much chance to grieve when he was in the mensh court, so he's been keeping that in for quite a while. It's not good for him. "Pain shared is pain eased."

I originally intended to fit all their adventures on Arianus into one chapter, but now I've decided to make several one-shots covering different parts of their journey. They probably won't be concurrent or even chronological, but I really want to tell this. Maybe I'll eventually take this off _Tales _and publish it as its own story.

Read and Review, people. Whoever reviews gets internet cookies, and whoever reviews first can make me write a story according for their specifications (as long as it's not slash; this is rated K+ people!).


	5. Judgement

Hey everybody, I'm back with another story. If you've read my other tales, you know that I've been promising to do something nice for Alfred. It's my way of making up for all the nasty stuff I've been putting him through. It might not seem like the kind of story that'll make him happy – at first. But by the end… well, you'll just have to wait and see!

Summary: Ramu finally goes too far when he puts Alfred on trial- for murdering Orla! Needless to say, the Serpent Mage is _not _happy.

Disclaimer: I don't own DGC. Yet. I've succeeded in genetically engineering three winged pigs: two boys and one girl. Their names are Torb, Miss Muppet, and Bacon. Once they start to fly, I will own the Death Gate Cycle!

* * *

Alfred Montbank had no idea what was going on.

Some of his less charitable acquaintances might say that such a state was normal for him, but even they would be forced to acquiesce that his today, his confusion was greater than normal. Most of the time, Alfred at least knew where he was and how he'd gotten there. Today he didn't. His last memory was of taking Haplo's dog Spear for a walk in the forest.

Alfred wondered what had happened to the mutt. He hoped that it was all right.

A minute of inspection shed only a little light on Alfred's situation. He was in a Sartan room with its characteristic white marble walls, smooth lines, and a comfortable, practical bed. The only exit was a single white door.

The door was covered in Sartan runes.

Alfred was baffled. Dwellings like this did not exist in the Nexus, where his people had adopted the architecture of their Patryn counterparts. And he definitely hadn't left the Nexus- despite many attempts to breach it, Death's Gate had remained closed. Alfred smiled slightly, remembering how he and Haplo had closed the Gate.

But enough about Death's Gate. He hadn't passed through it and he wasn't in his home city, so that meant he was with the rebel Sartan. Ramu's bunch.

Alfred groaned softly, sank down onto the bed. If he was in Ramu's city, it stood to reason that he was here because of Ramu. Wonderful. What did the Councilor want with him _now? _

As if the mage's silent question had summoned him, a man began to sing. Alfred looked up at the door, was not surprised to see the runes fizzling and fading.

The singer was a grim young Sartan, faintly handsome, but with too-tiny eyes that made him look shifty. He looked at his kinsman with an expression of disgust. The elder Sartan fought a bizarre urge to apologize.

Instead he asked, "Why am I here?"

The guard's expression became even more contemptuous. "You are on trial for your crime," he sneered.

Alfred blinked. He could not for the life of him think of what he'd done "wrong" lately. Well, aside from living with Patryns, making spells to benefit Patryns, playing with Patryn "grandchildren," breaking Patryns out of the Labyrinth, and generally being nice to his people's ancestral enemies, but he did that every day. "And what crime am I accused of?" he asked mildly. Ramu wouldn't go through all the trouble of kidnapping him for things he'd done daily for the past three years. Then again, it was Ramu, so he couldn't really be sure…

The guard's lips curled. "'What crime,' the murderer asks," he hissed.

Alfred's jaw dropped. "Murder?" For a wild moment he thought of the Royal One. Not even Ramu would call that kill murder- it had been to save children!

But still, Ramu was in the dragon-snakes' thrall, and the dragon-snakes still wanted the Serpent Mage dead. And they were very good at twisting the truth. They'd probably neglected to mention that _they had been trying to kill people, _thereby justifying everything he had done that day.

The guard was furious. "Yes, murder!" he roared. "Kidnapping and murder- and of a Councilor, no less! _Filth. _You don't deserve to be called a Sartan."

Alfred gaped. "I murdered a Councilor?" he repeated blankly. Then: "No I-"

But the guard interrupted him. "Yes, a Councilor! What did you think Orla was, a fishwife?"

"_Orla!" _

An ugly grin came over the guard's face. "Bet you didn't think we'd find out, hmm? Bet you thought we wouldn't even think about the lady, that Ramu wouldn't mourn his mother- and bring justice to her killer!" He grabbed Alfred's arm, roughly, painfully. The elder Sartan was too stunned to resist, or even notice. _Orla? _They thought he'd murdered _Orla? _He had loved her! The accusation was completely absurd!

Well, he decided, it's a good thing I'm going to trial. I can nip this… this _nonsense_ in the bud, stop the rumors from spreading.

The Council chamber was an impressive structure. A massive dome, opened to the sky and sun, it could easily seat a thousand Sartan. Alfred was reminded of a sporting arena he'd seen on Arianus, where knights jousted and trained before the eyes of King Stephen.

The seats were filled with Sartan- and dragon-snakes. Evidently, everyone wanted to attend Alfred's trial.

The Councilors looked up when Alfred and his guard entered. The guard shoved him into the center of the room and walked over to the Council. "You may sit, servitor," Ramu growled. His baleful eyes did not move from the other man's face.

The accused Sartan suddenly felt very small and alone and vulnerable. He had no hope of nipping this in the bud. The plant had flowered a long time ago.

When Ramu spoke again, it was clear to everyone that he was just barely keeping his temper under wraps. His voice was nothing more than a growl. "You who call yourself Alfred Montbank, you stand accused of the murder of Orla, a former Councilor, the wife of Samah, and my mother. We gather together to determine your punishment."

Alfred's jaw sagged. _Punishment? _What had happened to _trial? _He forced himself to remain calm, to find his voice. "Since when," he asked, "do the Sartan punish without a trial?"

Ramu gazed at him coldly. "Your trial occurred two days ago."

Alfred barely stopped his jaw from dropping again. "I was not present at the trial," he managed to choke out. "It is not the Sartan way to convict the accused when he is not even present! Especially when the accused is innocent!"

"Yes," Ramu concurred the first point, ignoring the other's last sentence, "but that is _Sartan _law. As my father often said, you are more Patryn than Sartan. You- and all the other false Sartan- gave up your rights when you embraced the enemy!" Cries of "Yes!" "Hear hear!" "Traitor!" followed his announcement. Alfred didn't need to look to see who had started them.

Dragon-snakes. They were behind this. They always were.

"Sartan or no," he shouted over the roaring crowd, "you must still provide evidence to convict me! Or do you now condemn innocent men without proof?"

"We have her body!" Ramu cried. "Her body, entombed in crystal- crystal created from _your _magic! Our allies the dragon-snakes brought me to the Vortex, where I saw all these things. Look to my words and know I speak the truth!" Gasps and shrieks from the crowd. Alfred felt the weight of a thousand belligerent glares.

"No!" he yelled in reply. "I made Orla a tomb, yes, but I did not murder her. She killed herself when she felt Samah's death!"

"In the Vortex?" sneered a dragon-snake. "Realm of _Patryns?"_

"If the Vortex is Patryn territory, you had no business bringing a Councilor there," Alfred snapped. "Orla and I were banished there- as you and the Council know!" Then, without really realizing what he was saying, Alfred added, "By the way, how is your king faring?"

Where had _that _come from? Alfred was almost as surprised as the dragon-snake; it wasn't something he would normally say. But still, it had the desired effect: all the dragon-snakes in the chamber jerked back as if with terror. Score one for the Serpent Mage.

The crowd was becoming confused, uneasy. Sartan couldn't lie- but Alfred's claims were insane. A Councilor, banished to the Labyrinth by her own husband and son? Such a thing could not be true!

Alfred pressed his advantage. "My people, you know I do not lie. Orla and I were banished to the prison maze- for sympathizing with Patryns! And there were others-"

"SILENCE!" Ramu roared. His face had gone red with rage.

Alfred whipped around, faced the Councilor. "Did I lie, Ramu?" he demanded. "Did my 'Patryn heart' just reveal itself? Tell me that I spoke one word of untruth!"

Ramu's mouth worked furiously, but he could not refute Alfred's words. Sartan cannot lie.

The accused had become the accuser.

Fortunately for Ramu, the other Councilors were not at a loss for words. A woman in her middle years rose up, held her hands in a placating gesture. "I am afraid," she announced, "that this trial is now closed to the public. The traitor speaks poisonous words, words that try to corrupt you. For your safety, we order the public to leave."

But her words came too late. The people would not forget Alfred's claims- and how Ramu could not deny them. Many rumors were born that day, as was much dissent.

Alfred's mind picked up on one word. _Traitor, _she had called him- _traitor, _not _murderer. _It took his breath away.

_Traitor,_ not _murderer._ The Council knew that he was innocent! They _knew! _

And suddenly, Coren knew. The Council had opened this to the public because they thought him weak, harmless. They had not expected him to fight back. In short, Ramu and his ilk had expected the old Alfred, the bumbling fool who had awakened them by accident.

That man was dead, shrouded in a dragon's wings.

The Council had never really believed that Alfred murdered Orla. They simply needed an excuse to make an example out of a traitor- someone notorious, hated, but someone whose trial and punishment they could control. Someone like the small and pathetic man they had known on Chelestra. The dragon-snakes, sensing a chance to destroy their worst enemy, showed Ramu his mother's tomb and whispered their poisons into his ear. The Councilor, already their creature in so many ways, was quick to obey.

It wasn't really about Orla at all. It was about punishing the Nexus Sartan, at setting an example for every Sartan in the seven worlds.

In short, it was about hate. Hate for Patryns, hate for those who couldn't be controlled.

Coren was _disgusted. _Had his people truly fallen so far?

The Council was uncomfortable. Their ingenious plan had backfired most horribly. Their example had grown fangs (and claws, and wings, and a tail, but they didn't know about that1), their people were suspicious. It did not look good.

Coren began to speak. His voice was low, quiet, but still they heard them, all falling silent that he might speak. "There was a time," the Serpent Mage announced, "that I was proud to count you as my people. But today, I see the worst of you: that which you hide from your subjects, your children, even from yourselves; that which is kindled and stoked by the dragon-snakes. Sartan, who cannot lie, deliberately deceiving one another! Fear, worming through your hearts, devouring the best of you. Hate, poisoning your minds, burning away reason. Pride, whispering in your ears, proclaiming you omniscient. It was this unholy trinity which brought me before you today, not your concern for your people. In me, you put all the Nexus- man and woman, Patryn and Sartan- to death." Yes, death was what they had planned for him.

And they would do it again- unless they were made to see. But they had deliberately blinded themselves; how could Coren open their eyes?

Only a few times had Coren felt this desperate need. Each time, he had met that need with magic. First, on Arianus, when Sir Hugh's life had been thrown away. Second, on Abarrach, when the corpse attacked him- and Haplo. Third, on Chelestra, when dragon-snakes were attacking children…

Coren's eyes widened. Glimmering runes soared through his mind. There! _That _was the answer, or at least a part. But who should he…?

Ramu. This all began with Ramu. As head of the Council of Seven, he had been targeted the most by the dragon-snakes; he was their chief pawn. Make Ramu see, and the Council would soon follow.

Coren knew _exactly_ how to make Ramu see. It might take a while, but he would see.

He took a deep breath and began to sing.

* * *

Three hours later, five crows flew into the Council chamber. They came from the skylight and so were not observed- though on this day, they could have walked through the door and not be noticed. The Councilors were very distracted.

"You see?" asked the first crow, perching on a vacated seat.

A second crow nodded, very slowly. It was strange to see such a human gesture on a bird- but a stranger sight was below them, so no one really paid attention.

"That's Ramu all right," muttered a third crow. "But Alfred, that's…"

"A Patryn," Alfred crowed (pun intended).

"You turned the head of the Council of Seven into a Patryn?" exclaimed a fourth crow, the only female of the small flock. She tried to grin, but grinning requires lips, which birds do not have. Her effort failed. "Haplo, you're rubbing off on him. The old Alfred would never have dreamed about this."

The third crow tried to smirk and failed. "Yeah."

Alfred turned to the second and fifth crows, looking nervous. "You're not angry, are you?"

The second crow chuckled, chortled, howled with laughter. Haplo and Marit joined in. "I think Vasu approves," the fifth crow commented dryly. "As do I."

Alfred's shoulders sagged with relief. "Tell me," the fifth crow ordered, "where did you come up with this?"

"I was just thinking-" "Always dangerous with you, Alfred," muttered Haplo teasingly- "that Ramu is the source of much of the Sartan's animosity towards us. Then I thought about the dragon, about shape-shifting. These Sartan don't know anything about shape-shifting2; I invented the spell myself and we never shared it with them. So… well… I know I didn't have your permission, Balthazar, but it seemed like a good idea at the time…"

"It was a good idea," Balthazar reassured him. "I just wish that every Sartan in the Nexus had seen this!"

"The opportunity was too good to miss," Vasu agreed, having recovered from his bout of laughter. "You have done much good today, Alfred."

Had Alfred been in Sartan form, his face would have flamed like a beet. As it were, he ducked his head and looked as embarrassed as a crow could look. "Oh. I… thank you, Headman."

The four other crows looked at each other with smiles in their eyes.

It was Haplo who saved his friend from further mortification. "Let's go home," he suggested. "Spread the word. Ramu, a Patryn- our people will laugh at that."

Alfred shot his friend a look of undying gratitude. "Yes," he agreed. "Let's."

The five crows took flight again, leaving behind them a room of frightened rulers- and, perhaps, eyes that were being forced open in the presence of the dawn.

* * *

1 Somehow or other, the Nexus-folk completely "forgot" to mention Alfred's powers to Ramu and his gang. Isn't that amazing?

2We have seen evidence that Alfred is absolutely brilliant at inventing spells: he brought Hugh the Hand back _as himself_, not as one of the lazar or a corpse-slave. He also created a spell that could kill the dead. It stands to reason that shape-shifting is another of Alfred's inventions. For instance, Grundle mentioned that Samah couldn't shape-shift, and Haplo didn't seem to believe that shape-shifting was possible until Alfred was about to be banished to the Labyrinth. Ergo, it stands to reason that Alfred invented the spell- and that he didn't give it to Ramu's people. However, I suspect that there are a few budding shape-shifters running around the Nexus, and I'm not talking about the Pryan dragons.

Okay, the ending was really lame, but forgive me. However, I am welcoming concrit for the ending, middle, and/or beginning.

I'm letting you decide what Alfred's punishment would have been. I think that it's best left to the imagination, don't you agree?

I've actually wanted to Patrify Ramu for a long, long time. Like, months. Don't you think that Alfred has a wonderful sense of irony and poetic justice?

I might be doing sort of a sequel thing, a one-shot from Ramu's POV about being a Patryn. That should be fun to write…

R&R, people and remember: first person to review gets to make me write a story according to their specifications!

-Antares


	6. The Serpent Outfoxed

Summary: Haplo and Marit decide to torture- I mean, _teach _Alfred how to use weapons. They really should have known better.

Disclaimer: Remember those pigs I was telling you about? Turns out that their immune systems weren't meant to deal with wings. They all died, so I don't own the DGC.

* * *

Alfred Montbank had faced Labyrinth dragons, fought lazar, and make dragon-snakes cower in terror, but when it came to his grandchildren, he was a goner. Haplo knew this- and how to take advantage of it.

"…and how," he said, continuing the argument they'd been having on and off for about a week, "would the kids feel if you died on them? Magic takes time, you know, but death takes just an instant."

Alfred flinched. "I have my dragon form," he insisted stubbornly, but Haplo was pleased to note that he sounded less certain than before.

"And you take _time _to get into it," Haplo insisted.

"Not much," Alfred muttered mulishly- but he was weakening, and Haplo knew it.

Marit did too. "Alfred, what's the difference between using a sword and using your dragon form? They're just different ways to kill Labyrinth monsters."

Haplo took up the cause. "Alfred, I've seen you tear monsters to shreds with your claws; why won't you use a sword?"

Alfred muttered something about an oath to never take up weapons1.

Marit suppressed the urge to snort. "What do you call your dragon form, then?"

The Sartan's eyes bugged out. It was obvious that he was looking for another argument, and just as obvious that he wasn't finding one. In the end, he settled for, "That's different."

"How?"

Alfred was unable to answer.

Haplo grinned. "Thought so."

Marit smiled, patted the Sartan on his back. "Your first lesson is tomorrow at dawn."

Alfred blanched. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

The Sartan groaned.

* * *

It seemed like Alfred was preparing to visit a Labyrinth dragon. Haplo took one look at his friend's face and raised an eyebrow. "It won't be that bad, Alfred," he said dryly.

The Sartan muttered something incoherent.

Marit, coming up behind him, chuckled. "Take this," she ordered, handing Alfred a sword- which the Sartan promptly dropped.

"My foot!"

The Patryns looked at each other and grinned. Alfred was hopping up and down in a most undignified manner, clutching his wounded foot and howling. There was a small thud; the Sartan had fallen over. Mumbling, he sang the runes that would heal him.

Haplo wiped the smile off his face, handed the sword to Alfred. "All right… we'll have to work on your grip."

"Claws don't require a grip," Alfred pointed out hopefully.

Marit chuckled again. "Nice try." She walked up to him, began adjusting the position of his hands. "You're holding it all wrong," she explained. "First off, this isn't even a two-handed sword. You hold it with just one hand. Yeah, like that… now move it a bit up the hilt- _up_, Alfred, not down…"

When the Patryn woman was finished with her help, she stepped back and let Haplo take over. The male Patryn grinned; his friend made a rather ridiculous sight: an old man, blood covering his shoes, holding a sword as though it were a poisonous serpent. "You're standing wrong, Alfred. Balance on the balls of your feet, not the heels." Sighing, the Sartan complied- and promptly fell over, taking Haplo and Marit with him.

For a few seconds, the threesome was a mass of tangled limbs and jostling elbows and Alfred's yelps. Then, once they were up, Alfred had to heal himself again. The Patryns had been protected by their rune-covered skins, but Sartan had no such protection.

Haplo began to wonder if this was a good idea.

Marit glared. "You haven't been this clumsy since before Abarrach!" Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Alfred flinched, blushed. "I'm sorry," he said pathetically. "I just… this really isn't easy for me."

Haplo nodded. He knew why Alfred could happily don a dragon's claws but still jerk away from weapons. Dragons were fine-tuned killing machines- but a dragon's body could be used for things other than war. Dragons could fly and scout and help carry people. Swords had one purpose only: to kill things. They couldn't even chop down trees!

Marit, though, had no such understanding. "Pick up your sword," she ordered coldly. "And for all our sakes, keep your balance this time!"

Two hours later, and Alfred still hadn't done anything but heal himself. A lot. Marit looked ready to pull out her hair, and Haplo wasn't faring much better. Best friends or no, he was ready to strangle that man! "We'll continue tomorrow," he said through gritted teeth.

Alfred's expression of relief was nigh on pathetic.

* * *

Marit certainly knew a lot of swear words.

Haplo listened with something like awe as she wildly cursed, letting loose a veritable dictionary of profanities. The gist of what she was saying went something like: "_Blast _that idiot, _idiot_ man!"

Haplo knew exactly how she felt. He had been cursing too; he'd just run out of words to say. Now he just watched her vent her spleen.

Finally, the Patryn woman broke off. Only one words broke the silence, hissed through Marit's teeth: "_Alfred…"_

Her husband nodded darkly. They had been training the Sartan for over three weeks, and he still hadn't made any improvement. If anything, he'd gotten _worse. _

"Exactly," Haplo agreed.

Marit was still fuming, began to rant. "_How _did he manage to pull that off? We have been shoving our swordsmanship down his throat for weeks, and he's still as hopeless as ever!" She continued her rant, pounding on the wall in frustration.

When it looked like she wouldn't bite his head off for interrupting, Haplo commented, "My thoughts exactly. If I didn't know better, I'd swear…" His voice trailed off into silence. The penny had dropped.

"Why that…" Haplo breathed. "That's exactly what he did!"

"What did he do?" asked Marit curiously.

Haplo bit back his fury and answered. "He's been doing this on purpose! He's only getting worse because he's deliberately being as terrible as he can!"

Marit swore again. Haplo nodded. They had plans to make.

Alfred was a dead, dead man.

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and early- too early for Alfred's taste. He hadn't been getting enough sleep for weeks, thanks to Haplo and Marit. Oh, well. Soon they'd give him up as a hopeless cause, and he could sleep as much as he wanted.

Not to mention that he'd finally be able to put this blasted sword away…

Haplo and Marit were standing in their usual places, but Alfred could feel something different about them today. They seemed… angry.

The Sartan blinked nervously, touched, much to his own surprise, the hilt of his sword. He didn't like this.

Marit looked up, and Alfred saw that her eyes were red.

Horror overwhelmed him. Dragon-snakes!

The snake that looked like Haplo charged, its sword at the ready. Alfred noted with increasing horror that the snake had Haplo's sword! The Patryn would never let his blade fall into the hands of his enemies- if he had any choice.

What had these monsters done to his friends?

But he would have to focus on that later. Right now, he had to fight back.

Alfred jerked out of the way, sucked in a deep breath, prepared to sing.

The snake that looked like Marit realized what was about to happen. It charged, sword at the ready. Alfred leapt out of the way, his spell interrupted before it even began. Both snakes ran at him, red eyes blazing. Only Alfred's innate Sartan grace- something that he had finally regained after the incident with the Seventh Gate- kept him from being skewered. But he couldn't do anything else; the dragon-snakes were preventing him from using his magic.

He would have to use the sword.

Alfred danced away from the dragon-snakes, grabbed the sword-hilt. The Haplo-snake froze, head cocked, red eyes narrowing. The Marit-snake charged at him again.

The Sartan snapped his blade up in a parry. The clang of steel on steel rang through the streets.

Both dragon-snakes were stunned. The Marit-snake glanced back at its partner, one eyebrow raised in query. The other serpent nodded, attacked.

Alfred desperately searched his mind for something- anything!- that could help him. His friends' lessons sprang into the forefront of his thoughts.

With sadness, he realized that Haplo and Marit had been right. There were some things that magic couldn't solve.

He just hoped he'd absorbed enough to stay alive.

Fortunately for Alfred, the two dragon-snakes weren't very good at swordsmanship. Undoubtedly, they were far more accustomed to using their true forms' size and poisoned jaws. The two doppelgangers were just unskilled enough that Alfred could hold them at bay.

Steel rang on steel, and sword on sword. Remembering one of the lessons that his friends had imparted, Alfred tried to force the dragon-snakes back, to keep moving forward. Haplo had claimed that retreating was one of the worst mistakes a swordsman could make; eventually they would be forced into a corner. Better to do the forcing yourself.

Fond memories of the Patryns led to another, more disturbing thought. If the dragon-snakes were this terrible at swordplay, then how had they overcome Haplo and Marit? It shouldn't be possible! Unless…

Unless, like Alfred himself, they were hiding their true skills for their own purposes. The Sartan's breath caught, his blade faltered.

They were herding him!

It made perfect sense. Overcome the Patryns, take their place, smuggle out the hated Serpent Mage in broad daylight without attracting attention. And once they had him out of the Nexus…

Alfred's mind shied away from that thought. He knew that dragon-snakes could make him beg for the sweet mercies of a Labyrinth dragon.

And the dragon-snakes would keep him alive much longer than the dragon.

And Alfred could not defeat them.

With that horrifying realization, the Sartan's knees turned to mush. His grip slackened. His sword dropped from his hand. Horror numbed his mind, his emotions.

The two dragon-snakes looked at each other, at their prisoner. The Marit-snake raised her eyebrows, an action so reminiscent of the Patryn woman that tears stung Alfred's eyes. "Well," it said with a shrug, "that was the best lesson we've had so far."

Alfred blinked. What in the seven worlds…?

"We ought to impersonate dragon-snakes more often," chuckled the Haplo-snake- _no, Haplo,_ Alfred realized with a start- grinning at his Sartan friend.

Marit laughed, spoke a few words in Patryn. The red faded from her eyes, replaced by her natural gold-flecked orbs. Haplo repeated the words, taking the illusion from his eyes as well.

All Alfred could do was stammer incoherently. "I-but-you-_you're alive!" _

Haplo nodded. "Looks like it."

His insolent smirk really was infuriating, Alfred decided. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he decided he had the right to be angry about his friends' trick; that he had just done something rather similar for the past three weeks was completely lost on him. "You tricked me!"

Haplo nodded again, eyes narrowing. "You tricked us," he pointed out reasonably.

Alfred flinched. "I didn't frighten you two half to death!"

"Yes you did," Marit spoke up. "Trust me Alfred, it's frightening to see you nearly impale yourself and wonder how you'll survive in situations where swordplay is required." Truth rang in her words.

Alfred winced. Shame, guilt burned his face. He dropped his eyes, became fascinated by the patterns his feet made in the ground. "I'm sorry." The words were barely a whisper. "I… I didn't know. I'm sorry."

Haplo's strong hand grasped the Sartan's shoulder, comforting him, forgiving him. "Apology accepted."

"But," Marit interrupted warningly, "you're still taking sword lessons." She smirked. "Especially now that we know you have _some_ potential."

Alfred groaned, grimaced, sighed. "Well," he said dryly, "I suppose I couldn't expect anything different."

Marit nodded. "Now pick up your sword," she ordered fiercely. "We have to work on your technique."

* * *

1 Alfred's main objection to carrying a weapon in _Fire Sea _is that he "swore an oath!" The earl actually mocked him about it, but the oath is legit.

Well, here's shot six. Hope you liked it. I kind of got the idea because it's something that those two would do- and Alfred, of course, would fight with every ounce of cunning in his body. I got the dragon-snake idea from how Lord Xar got into the Seventh Gate by impersonating Hugh the Hand. By the way, you can bet that Alfred went straight to Vasu. I imagine their conversation went something like this:

Alfred: "Headman, can you pass a law that would make impersonating dragon-snakes illegal?"

Vasu: *blinks* Of course. Why?

Alfred: *blushing* Well, there's a funny story behind that…

Remember, read and review! I feel so sad and lonely with no reviews for my story.


	7. Christmas Cheer

_Day the first _

The dragon now known as Cyril (they had to choose names for the Pryan creatures somehow; 'hey you' just didn't cut it anymore) had long ago grown accustomed to his particular doom. He could handle his charge quite well, now: the random outbursts of song, the miscellaneous confused identities, the sheer confusion of everyone with whom they came in contact.

But there was one time of the year when he utterly despised his duties. For three weeks, three long and torturous weeks, it simply wouldn't _end._

"Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way!"

The dragon grit his teeth, forcing himself to remain calm. Oh, how he envied his cousins the dragon-snakes, who would have slaughtered the old fool with impunity.

And it was only day one.

"Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh-ay!"

_I can endure,_ he told himself. _I can and shall endure. _

"Oh, dashing through the snow…."

_Day the third _

"What… in the name of the Labyrinth… happened to the city?" Haplo turned an accusing gaze on Alfred. "You haven't been experimenting again, have you?"

The elderly Sartan shook his head. He, too, was utterly bemused by the bizarre transformation which had taken place.

The Nexus was entirely covered in flashing lights: mainly red, green, and white, with a few strands of blue or multi-colored. Full-grown fir trees sprouted on every corner. They, too, were covered in lights and other ornaments. The one nearest to Haplo and Alfred was decorated with icicles and red bulbs. It was topped with a star.

But the lights and trees were only the beginning. It seemed that every house had been lined with pine boughs, sprigs of holly, a silvery substance they would later learn was called tinsel. Mistletoe hung from every door.

A few yards had decorations of the non-biological type. These came in myriad forms: reindeer, reindeer pulling a sleigh with a fat old man in it, the old man in the sleigh without the sleigh, and a group of humans and farm animals standing around a feeding trough.

"Do you think we should find Vasu?" Alfred queried.

Haplo shook his head. "Vasu won't have any idea what's going on. Come on."

"But you just said-"

"Not Vasu. Zifnab."

_Day the third, continued _

"Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful-"

Haplo and Alfred bypassed the singing Sartan (who had for some reason donned a red suit and hat exactly like the sleigh man's) to speak with his babysitter/guardian/butler/guide/friend. The dragon had taken elf form for the day. Instead of his usual dark suit, which he favored in all his humanoid bodies, he was clad in bright green.

"What exactly is going on?" Alfred asked, drawing his coat tighter around him.

The dragon turned to him with an expression of abject despair and moaned, "Christmas."

"Sorry?"

"Christmas," Cyril repeated. "Every single year, he goes absolutely crazy with the Christmas spirit. He thinks he's Santa Claus and runs around making mounds and mounds of toys and _sings the same five carols again and again and again_." A deep shudder ran through his frame. "But it will only be for another twenty-one days, fourteen hours, and twenty-one minutes. I shall endure."

The two friends exchanged confused glances. Neither had heard of this 'Christmas.' It wasn't a festival on Arianus, and it certainly wasn't celebrated by the stoic Patryns. "What exactly is this Christmas thing?" Haplo inquired.

Unfortunately, he spoke a little too loudly. Zifnab's song cut off in mid-word. He turned to the Runner and gasped out, "You don't know what Christmas is?"

Haplo turned very, very pale.

_Day the sixth _

"Have you been a good little girl this year?"

Marit grit her teeth. "Can't you control him?" she shot at Cyril.

The dragon shook his head morosely. "I wish. Oh, I wish."

"Have you been a good-"

The Patryn brandished her knife. Zifnab blanched, stumbled backwards. "You're going on the naughty list for this!"

_Day the tenth _

When Alfred was a child, his mother had often commented that he didn't _have_ a temper. The boy was mild as milk, incapable of taking petty vengeance for anything. It took a great deal of provocation to make him angry, and an unprecedented amount to make him actually strike out at someone.

So he was surprised as everyone else when, after three days of being stalked by 'Santa Claus,' he finally snapped.

Cyril stared in slack-jawed amazement at the result of the Serpent Mage's spell. Everyone around them, Patryn and Sartan alike, fell silent.

Haplo clapped a hand on Alfred's back. The Runner was grinning ear to ear. "My hero."

Alfred turned a remarkable shade of red. "I really shouldn't have done that..."

Cyril snapped out of his shock. "Don't change him back! I beg you, please don't change him back!"

"But-"

The rest of the Nexus burst into babbling: please don't, this is the first time in _days_ that the old coot has shut up, we will be eternally in your debt if you keep him this way, and if you change him back I _will_ hunt you down.

The Sartan hesitated. Zifnab's constant singing _had _been rather annoying, and he really didn't seem to mind….

"I suppose he could stay this way for a few days," Alfred mumbled.

The Nexus burst into cheers.

Zifnab the reindeer, thinking the applause was for him, bowed until his antlers touched the ground.

_Day the fifteenth _

"Why did you change him back?"

Alfred flinched away. Balthazar had always rather frightened him. "I couldn't just leave him in reindeer form forever."

"Couldn't you have waited a few days?" the ex-necromancer groaned. "Have you _heard_ his latest song?"

The older Sartan nodded miserably. "It's been stuck in my head all day, and I can't even remember half the words."

"Is there anything I can do to convince you to make him a reindeer again?"

"Sorry," Alfred mumbled, "but I shouldn't have done it in the first place."

Balthazar groaned, massaged his temples. "That's what I thought you'd say."

_Day the seventeenth _

The solution was so painfully obvious that Vasu almost kicked himself for not seeing it before. Zifnab had driven everyone in the Nexus, even gentle Alfred, to the point of insanity.

Everyone in _this _part of the Nexus, that is. Ramu's Sartan hadn't been exposed to the horror quite yet. Why not introduce them to the Christmas cheer, too?

It was a testament to just how annoying the old madman was that Vasu was willing to banish him to the Sartan city.

So late at night, when the lunatic had sung himself to sleep, he loaded him onto Cyril's draconic back. "Two birds with one stone," the headman commented softly, not wanting to wake Zifnab up. "The dragon-snakes can't kill him- I doubt anything could kill him- and we get rid of him for…." He trailed off. "How long will you stay?"

"I don't know," Cyril sighed. "Until they come after us with torches and pitchforks, I suppose. Why oh why did I ever take this job?"

"From what you've told me, it was because you felt sorry for him and believed you could cure his madness."

"…Well, we're all fools when we're young."

_Day the seventeenth, continued _

The Council of Seven had held many emergency meetings since Death's Gate closed and they found themselves trapped with the Patryns. But never before had the council been open to the entire city.

"He's obviously some kind of spy," declared a servitor. "Here to probe our weaknesses."

"And to create weaknesses where there were none," growled one of her comrades. "Though what possible purpose all those trees could serve, I have no idea."

Ramu slammed his fist onto the table. "No matter why they sent him here, he obviously serves some kind of plot. Therefore, we must send him and his dragon companion back as soon as possible."

"Unless that's what they want us to do," pointed out another Sartan. "What if a group of Patryns is lying in ambush, ready to kill whoever brings the old coot back to their citadel?"

A group of dragon-snakes (in their humanoid forms, of course) watched the meeting with mixed feelings. On the one hand, Zifnab was doing what he did best- causing chaos. They could appreciate that… but did he have to be so annoying?

_Day the twentieth _

Haplo woke up to a sound he had come to dread. "-four calling birds, three French hens-"

The Patryn cursed. Then, just for good measure, he added another, fouler curse.

"_Zifnab,_" his wife hissed, lifting her head to glare out the window. "Are you absolutely certain that Alfred won't-"

"Positive."

Marit swore, too. "He was much less annoying as a reindeer."

"On the seventh day of Christmas-"

Grumbling curses, Haplo dragged himself out of bed to go yell at Zifnab. "Listen, you deranged old-"

The Sartan's face lit up. "Haplo!" he cried, startling the Patryn into silence. That was probably the first time he had ever addressed him by name. "You have a bunch of kids in there, right?"

Haplo glanced at Cyril. The dragon-turned-badly-dressed-elf sighed. "He wants them to sit on his lap and tell him what they want for Christmas."

The Patryn arched a brow. "Do I want to know why?"

"Because he thinks he's Santa Claus, and Santa Claus frequently had small children sit on his lap and tell him about their material desires."

"Exactly!" the faux Kringle exclaimed. He swung an arm around Haplo's shoulder, drawing the Runner uncomfortably close. "And then, on Christmas Eve, I sneak down your chimney…." He paused, pulled up short. "You don't have a chimney!" Judging from his tone, that was a crime worthy of the death sentence.

"What happens after you sneak down the chimney?" Haplo interrupted. He did _not_ want Zifnab fixating on his lack of a chimney. Who knew what the man would do to rectify that?

It worked. "I leave presents in your stockings, that's what!" He noticed Marit, who had stalked out of the house to find out what was taking her husband so long. His eyes narrowed. "Except you, of course. You get coal."

_Day the twenty-first _

"And what do you want for Christmas, little boy?"

"…I'm a girl."

Zifnab blinked in confusion at the short-haired child on his lap. "I see. And what do you want for Christmas, little girl?"

She shrugged.

"Come now. There must be some present that Santa can get you."

She cocked her head. "Maybe a new whetstone. Or a knife. Knives are good."

Zifnab's face fell. Were there _any_ Patryn children who didn't want something related to violence? He specialized in soft toys, electronics, playfully useless stuff in mounds of wrapping paper. He did _not_ provide them with weapons.

"Are you absolutely, positively certain that there's nothing else I could get you? Something non-lethal, perchance?"

She shrugged once more. "I'm in the Nexus now. I have everything I ever wanted, needed, or dreamed about. I really don't need anything more."

The false Santa beamed at her. "Oh, you're going on the permanent nice list! What's your name?" He blushed. "You know, so I can put it on the permanent nice list."

The girl smiled quietly. "Rue."

_Day the twenty-second _

"Making a list, checking it twice, gonna find out who's naughty or nice…."

Haplo rubbed his temple. "Next year, Alfred, we're going to the Labyrinth."

"Or you could turn him into a reindeer again," Marit coaxed. "Or anything that can't sing. I'm not picky."

"Please don't tempt me," the Sartan moaned. "Because once I start changing people indiscriminately- it's a slippery slope, my dear, one I have no intention of falling down." (Later, after an incident involving Ramu and a kidnapping, his Patryn friends would remind him of this conversation at least twice a day until he threw up his hands and agreed to transform Zifnab for the holidays. Well, part of the holidays, at least.)

"All right, my loyal elves!" the madman cried. "I've checked my list twice!"

Cyril, the only even vaguely elven-looking being within hearing range, clapped unenthusiastically. "Production time, then, sir?"

"Uh-huh!" He nodded with all the enthusiasm his companion lacked. "And this year, I actually have people to give the presents _to_!"

Haplo blinked. Zifnab (or rather, his dragon) was actually going to make all those things?

As though he had heard the Runner's thoughts, Cyril turned toward the three friends. "He's been very cheery lately," the dragon explained. "It's like a constant feast, really. If I don't burn off all his energy _somehow_, I'll end up fat."

_Day the twenty-fourth (late)_

"Sir, don't you think that attempting to break into a heavily warded Patryn's home is a bad idea?"

"Nonsense, my loyal elf! I'm Santa Claus. I can get into any home with a chimney."

"These homes don't _have_ chimneys, sir."

The appalled old Sartan looked up, discovered that his companion was right. An expression of abject horror crossed his face. "No chimneys! Why, cruel world? Why?"

"Because they use rune-magic to heat and illuminate their homes. They have no need of chimneys."

"But what am I supposed to do without chimneys?" Zifnab sniffled.

Cyril considered. Perhaps, if he couldn't deliver presents, the old coot would give up this Santa business for good? No- this was Zifnab he was talking about, after all. He'd probably do something stupid, like try to bring down someone's roof.

"Might I suggest leaving the presents by the door?"

_Day the twenty-fifth_

Haplo stared bemusedly at the mound of… things… by his door. How in the worlds had Zifnab carried it all?

But he wasn't intrigued enough to pursue the question further. With Zifnab, many things were better left unsaid. So instead, he called to the children, "Come out and get your things, kids."

One by one, the very confused but not displeased children came to retrieve their gifts. For some reason, they were covered in patterned paper and little bows. Oh well. It was Zifnab, after all.

Not really having anything better to do, the children (and adults; they too had been given gifts) opened their presents. They were fairly confident that nothing would go wrong- Cyril wouldn't let his charge put anything explosive in there, and their runes weren't going off.

"Huh," he said, staring at his new acquisition. "Gloves." Nice ones, too, tough and sturdy. He might actually use them.

"Coal," Marit said.

"What's he expect us to do with coal?"

"How should I know?" she shrugged. "He probably thinks it's reindeer food."

_Day the twenty-sixth _

The Nexus breathed a collective sigh of relief. No longer did Zifnab wander the streets in a red suit and hat. No longer did the miserable Cyril follow him in elven form. No longer were their doorways covered in dead plants. They were safe… until next year.

* * *

Yeah. After a two-year hiatus, I come back with _this._ Should have stayed gone, huh?

Rue being mistaken for a boy is a reference to me going through the same thing once a month or so. And no, I won't tell you if she's _the_ Rue.

Merry Christmas, y'all.

-Antares


	8. Vignettes

_Namesake _

"I really think you should give your dog a name, Haplo." Alfred spoke more to distract himself from the fact that they were being held captive by angry Patryns than out of real concern for the dog's lack of name. "How does Sausage sound?"

One of their Patryn guards (Haplo hadn't caught her name) snorted. He was tempted to follow suit. "I am _not_ naming the dog Sausage."

The dog, hearing the word for its favorite treat, whined hungrily. Haplo patted his ears in apology.

"I think it's a good name for him," Alfred said. The dog trotted in front of the clumsy Sartan, kept him from falling into a pit. "Good boy, Sausage!"

The dog glanced around, now absolutely certain that someone had a sausage and was hiding it from him.

"His name," Haplo ground out, "is _not_ Sausage."

"Why not?" Alfred asked. "You never gave it another name, so why not Sausage?"

"Because that's a stupid name. Besides," he added, cutting off the older man's retort, "shouldn't I be the one to name my dog?"

"You haven't," the Sartan pointed out.

"Just pick a name," Kari growled. "Or he'll never shut up."

Alfred shut up, hunching meekly in on himself. This of course meant that he stopped paying attention to his surroundings and walked into a tree. Haplo rolled his eyes. The other Patryns, who still hadn't figured out that no, this was not an act meant to lull them into a false sense of security, tightened their grips on their spears.

"Let's see," he mused, "it's an innocuous-looking magical creature that follows me around, causing trouble, showing up where I least expect it, absolutely _refusing_ to die, and occasionally saving my life." He smirked. "I think I'll call it Montbank. Or Monty, for short."

Hugh the Hand guffawed.

_Patryn Law (Part 1) _

Until he'd actually started living with Patryns, Alfred's knowledge of their culture had had some fairly major holes. With Haplo and Marit's help, he was beginning to fill those pits.

Sometimes, he wished that they just stayed empty.

Haplo trailed off on his explanation of the succession laws, the codes enabling anyone to defeat a headman and claim his place in the tribe. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," the Sartan lied, flushing crimson.

Funnily enough, Haplo didn't buy his atrociously delivered lie. "People don't get looks like this-" (here he twisted his face into an approximation of Alfred's expression) "-over nothing."

Time for another tactic. "It's embarrassing."

The Patryn arched a brow. "From you?"

The best defense was a good offense. Following that logic, Alfred snapped, "Believe it or not, Haplo, I don't particularly like embarrassing myself all the time." And then, because he was Alfred, he wilted. "I'm sorry."

Haplo sighed. "Quit apologizing," he ordered wearily. That wasn't the first time he'd scolded his friend, and he had the feeling it wouldn't be the last.

"…Promise you won't laugh?"

"I won't laugh," he promised.

Alfred squirmed, still hesitant to explain his thought processes. "You know how my brain works, of course…. It keeps popping out completely random things that make no sense whatsoever to anyone else." Haplo nodded. "Well, this was… one of those things."

Haplo waited.

Alfred wrung his hands together. His face had gotten even redder. "When you were talking about how leadership passes from the old chieftain to the person who kills him…. I honestly have no idea where this ridiculous thought came from, because it _is_ ridiculous, and in more ways than one…." He shrugged helplessly. "Chelestra."

Apparently, that was supposed to explain everything. It didn't. "What about Chelestra?" Haplo asked with exaggerated patience.

Alfred could no longer meet his friend's gaze. "Draknor, to be specific," he mumbled. "With the Royal One, and the dragon, and…. I'm very, _very_ grateful that dragon-snakes don't follow Patryn law."

_Patryn Law (Part 2)_

The Sartan of the Nexus had a problem. It wasn't the kind of dilemma that they could just ignore; if they did, they would literally end up dead.

The Patryns who had been in the Nexus for the Battle of the Final Gate (as it was now being called) had grudgingly accepted that they weren't allowed to murder their Sartan neighbors. The Abri Patryns, who had long ago grown used to hybrids, were a great help in keeping their brethren under control, but there had still been… _incidents._

Hatred couldn't die in a day, and the people of the Labyrinth had had centuries to cultivate their rage into an almost un-killable force. With nothing except the pleas of "Sartan-loving traitors" who had rescued them from the Labyrinth holding them back, they had few qualms about causing _incidents._

Fortunately, none of the aforementioned _incidents_ had been fatal (for either the Patryn or the Sartan involved), but everyone knew it was only a matter of time. Unless they found a way to keep the hatred at bay, someone would die. And quickly.

Surprisingly (or perhaps not), it was Marit who came up with the solution. She stalked up to one of the people she'd rescued and said, "I saved your life."

The other Patryn nodded. She had brought him out of the Labyrinth; had he stayed there, he would probably already be dead.

"According to our law, all quarrels between us have been settled in my favor."

His answering nod was much slower this time. He knew he was being led on, though he had no idea why.

Her eyes narrowed. "You tried to decapitate Alfred."

"He's a Sartan." Justification enough, in this Patryn's mind.

"And my friend," she added.

The Patryn had a nasty idea that he knew where this was going. And, of course, he was right.

"Your treatment of Alfred and the other Sartan is a dispute between us."

He grit his teeth but did not- could not- deny it.

From that day on, reports of _incidents_ dropped dramatically.

* * *

This is dedicated to Darkhymns, who is probably the only other DGC author still active on this site. Also, I kind of made a promise to take requests, and I haven't yet. Technically, the second part of "Patryn Law" has absolutely nothing to do with "something about Alfred and Haplo's relationship," which was the prompt, but I could hardly publish "Patryn Law Part 1" without adding the second.


	9. Friends and Family

Two Patryns crouched in the bushes, straining all their senses for information about what was going on in the cave. They could hear the dragon's hostage, a little girl, talking rapidly, though neither eavesdropper could make out her words. But the words didn't matter. The girl did. She was their mission, their goal, and their prize.

The only thing between them and her was a large, sharp-clawed, sharp-fanged dragon with magical powers.

Haplo and Marit had spent the last few minutes discussing (if only in very, very quiet voices) their strategy. She had more experience with him at rescuing victims from dragons and no qualms about reminding him of this.

"We need to wait," she said, voice low, eyes never leaving the mouth of the dragon's cave. "He's tired. We gave him a run for his money earlier today. When he sleeps, we can sneak in."

Haplo nodded. Attacking a dragon head-on was suicide. He wished that they knew more of what was going on in the cave, of its layout and of how the captive was bound.

Jaws tight, faces grim, the Patryns waited. Fortunately, they didn't have to wait long. True to Marit's prediction, the dragon was still tired from that morning. It walked out of the cave, lifted its head to the sun, extended its wings. For a few moments it stood there, reptilian face blissful (evidently, it got along quite well with its hostage), before tucking its head under its wing. The creature's breathing slowed and deepened. It wouldn't wake up soon- probably. Hopefully.

_Good,_ Marit thought. She signaled her husband. Moving silently, the two Patryns stalked up to the dragon.

Attacking a wyrm was foolish, and so they would not. If they tried to kill a dragon, it would wake up before dying and kill them, too. But they had a task, a mission, a goal- a task that was behind the dragon. And so, scarcely daring to breathe, they crept around the beast's vast bulk and into the cave.

A child was chained to the wall, the little girl whom they had heard earlier. She beamed at her rescuers, thrilled that they'd made it past the sleeping dragon. Then her expression changed to alarm.

That was all the warning Haplo and Marit had. They whirled around, grabbed at their swords, but they were too late. The dragon, which evidently had _not_ been sleeping, pinned them down with its claws.

_I win again, _Alfred announced. He released the two Patryns and scooted back a step, waited politely for them to right themselves. _Of course, I have no doubt that if your tattoos had warned you, you wouldn't have been captured. _

"He's right," the girl agreed. She slipped through her manacles as though they were made of air. Her eyes, blue-green as Pryan's jungles, shimmered with amusement. "Though it was still foolish of you not to ascertain that he was really sleeping."

Marit nodded. "If you'd been a Labyrinth dragon, we would have put a sleep spell on you," she informed her friend.

_No, my dear,_ Alfred corrected, raising his snout in faux haughtiness, _you would have approached me, thinking me unconscious. Then I would have captured you and added you to my foul 'collection.' _A deep shudder ran through the green dragon's frame. His tail twitched.

"Of course," the girl pointed out, "then they would have had the benefit of their runes. The magic would have told them that the dragon wasn't sleeping."

Haplo nodded. It was rather difficult to practice fighting dragons when their 'enemy' would never hurt them. They'd tried convincing Alfred that no, it really was all right to train rough, but the Sartan refused to listen. He had a tendency to exhibit pigheadedness at the most importune moments.

"So the exercises are pointless?" Marit asked dryly. "I don't think so."

"I never said they were pointless," the girl retorted. "Just that this should never be confused for the real thing."

The true Patryns stared at the shape-shifter as though she were mad. "Of course it's not the real thing," Haplo pointed out. "I don't think that anyone could mistake Coren here for a Labyrinth dragon."

_But fake or not, these exercises are helping them. A Labyrinth dragon would not have known they were there,_ Alfred chimed in. _I couldn't see, smell, or hear them at all. That's quite the improvement from our first exercise. Now, shall we try this again? Perhaps, _he grinned in a way that, considering his large fangs, should have been terrifying but wasn't, _my friends will even use a sleep spell this time._ Very gently, he butted his head against Haplo's back.

"You'll have to find another captive if you do choose to continue, I'm afraid," the drake told them. "I have other things to do."

_That's too bad, _Alfred sighed. _You were a much better conversationalist than my last 'hostage.' _

The drake beamed at him. "Why, thank you, Master Montbank."

"More proof that this isn't real," Haplo muttered, lips quirking into a smile. "Labyrinth dragons don't talk with their victims for hours on end about- say, what were you talking about? Marit and I were too far away to hear."

_That would explain why I couldn't hear you. As for your question, we were discussing the metaphysical implications of elven necromancy. I'll spare you the details. _

Haplo rolled his eyes. "There aren't a lot of Labyrinth dragons who would discuss elven necromancy with their 'guests.'"

The drake was already gone, vanished into the ether. Alfred, though, remained. He shot Haplo the draconic equivalent of a raised eyebrow and teased, _I hope you don't want my next 'hostage' to scream instead. That would hurt both her throat and my ears. _His crests twitched for emphasis.

"That's not the point," Marit grumbled. Her words were gruff, but her voice was filled with affection. "The point is, should we continue? We technically don't need a hostage, just a dragon to fight against." She patted Alfred's snout. "Which we have."

Haplo rolled his eyes again. "You know he's useless for training with. Don't try to deny it," he added, turning towards the shape-changer, "because you know you are. You never remember that you're supposed to be trying to hurt us."

The dragon sighed but was forced to concede his friend's point.

"I think we should stop, save our energy for the Run tomorrow," Haplo continued.

Alfred's head snapped up. _Oh? Are we still doing that?_

"Of course," Marit replied, frowning at him. "Why wouldn't we?"

The dragon's golden gaze became very intense. Then he huffed a sigh and moaned, _Oh dear._

"What's 'oh, dear'?" Haplo demanded. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. Alfred had been known to exaggerate- often as a simple response to culture shock, if nothing else- but he'd adjusted enough to the Patryn way of life that those moments were rare now. Besides, the run had nothing to do with Patryn customs that he hadn't already experienced.

Alfred glanced away, not wanting to meet his friend's eyes. _Nothing. I just don't think that we should go into the Labyrinth tomorrow, that's all. _

"What brought that on?" Marit asked. It wasn't like Alfred to try and stop a Run. Self-professed coward or not, he had no intention of letting any Patryn remain in the Labyrinth any longer than necessary. He'd never suggested that they shouldn't enter the Labyrinth or even delay their missions, not once.

…_nothing…._

"If it's nothing," Marit informed him, "then we're going."

The dragon began to look alarmed. _I don't think that's a very good idea, my dear._

"Then tell us what's wrong," she ordered.

Alfred considered, tilting his head to the side. _I'd rather not. You see, I shouldn't know this, and I don't want to spoil it by saying. But I really don't think that either of you should go into the Labyrinth for a while._

"If you're not going to tell us," Marit hissed, "then why do you expect us to listen?" Her eyes narrowed. "What did you do?"

_For once,_ Alfred told her, _this isn't my fault. If you're desperate to blame someone, blame Haplo. _

Marit glanced at her husband, who was just as confused as she was. Haplo shrugged- he didn't know what was going on either. "I can't think of any reason not to go to the Labyrinth."

"Then it's settled," Marit decided. "We leave tomorrow at dawn."

The dragon shook his head. _No, I don't think that would be at all wise. _

"If it makes you feel better," Haplo promised, "we can make it a short Run."

Alfred considered. Then, again shaking his head, he reiterated, _No, I really don't think this is a good idea. And no, Haplo, I won't tell you and spoil the surprise. I'm probably not supposed to know this in the first place. _

It was times like this when Marit wondered if he frustrated them on purpose.

"Let's go," Haplo muttered. He walked towards the mouth of the cave.

Alfred blocked them. _Are you going to the Labyrinth tomorrow?_

"Of course."

The dragon positioned himself so that his large body blocked the entirety of the exit.

"Now what are you doing?" Haplo demanded.

_I won't let you leave until you both promise that you won't go to the Labyrinth until it's over._

"Until what's over?"

_You'll know when it's over,_ was the dragon's frustratingly vague response.

"And what exactly is 'it'?"

_I can't tell you, because I'm not the one who should tell you_.

"I give up," Haplo grumbled. He began to trace the runes of transportation.

Unfortunately, he had underestimated his friend's determination. The Sartan-turned-dragon hummed a single note. Haplo's spell unraveled.

Both Patryns gawked. Alfred never, never, NEVER used his power like that. They knew intellectually that he was many times more powerful than they were (they couldn't turn themselves into dragons without losing consciousness for hours on end), but he'd never before taken advantage of that. And now here he was, unraveling his best friend's spell.

"Is this your way of hinting that we should keep training?" Haplo demanded. He couldn't conceive of any other reason for his friend's bizarre behavior.

_No. It's my way of hinting that you two shouldn't go into the Labyrinth until- until it's over. _

"And yet you refuse to tell us what this 'it' is. Alfred, don't you realize that there's a bit of a contradiction in your thought process?"

_I'm well aware of that, Haplo,_ he sighed, _but I'm between a rock and a hard place. I shouldn't tell you because it's the kind of thing you should find out on your own, but you won't stay out of the Labyrinth unless I tell you, which I will not, or force you to stay behind. So I rather have to force you._ He didn't sound overly happy about that, but was no less determined.

"So you'd rather leave helpless children in the Labyrinth than tell us what's going on?" Marit demanded.

_Of course not. I can go by myself._

"You're a Sartan. They'll murder you."

…_I heard that Erri is thinking about becoming a Rescuer. _

Marit opened her mouth to protest again, but Haplo stopped her. He had a plan to make the stubborn fool give in. Smiling wickedly, he asked, "Why didn't you just say so? Though in my opinion, you two should find some other destination for a romantic getaway." He knew full well that the two weren't lovers, but Alfred would inevitably grow flustered at teasing that suggested he had a lady friend. A flustered Alfred would be easier to deal with, meaning that he would cave and tell them what was going on.

But once again, the other man proved that he had no intention of acting according to character. The dragon huffed. _That's not going to work this time, Haplo. _

The Patryn began to wonder if he was dreaming. The Sartan _always_ reacted badly to that kind of implication. Always. He almost wondered if this was really Alfred.

"We're going to the Labyrinth tomorrow," Marit growled. "All three of us. Or, if you'd rather go with Erri, we can find a drake." She stalked up to the opening of the cave, searching for a part that wasn't blocked by her friend's body.

Alfred groaned silently. Of course the Patryns weren't going to see sense. Of course he'd have to do this the hard way. But, as the alternative was letting Haplo and especially Marit go into the Labyrinth _now,_ he really ought to stop them. So, with that in mind, he gently pushed Marit to the ground, pinned her down with his claws. _Sorry. _

The Patryn woman stared at him with an open mouth. He flinched guiltily but continued, _I'll let you up when you and Haplo promise to stay out of the Labyrinth until it's over._

They tried to reason with him, even threatened him, but there's not a whole lot one can do when one is pinned down by a several-thousand-pound dragon. Eventually Haplo and Marit gave in, promised that they wouldn't enter the Labyrinth until 'it' was over.

Whatever 'it' might be.

* * *

"You're certain you'll be fine?" Alfred fretted.

"Positive," Haplo growled. This was the fifth time he'd said so, and he was beginning to get impatient.

"All right then." The Sartan looked somewhat doubtful, but at least he was willing to listen. "And you will take care while I'm gone, right? You won't overexert yourselves or-"

"We'll be fine, _Mother_," Marit informed him.

"I think they want us to leave," observed Erri, Alfred's partner for this particular Run. "They seem to be getting fed up with you."

"All right, then, my dear," the Sartan said. But he still looked worried.

Erri rolled her eyes. "Didn't you recruit a bunch of drakes to watch over them while you're gone?"

Haplo's head snapped up. "What?" he demanded.

The older man flinched. "Only as a precaution. They'll just check in on you once or twice a day."

"_Check in on us?_"

The Sartan turned to Erri, who was grinning widely, trying not to laugh. "We really shouldn't delay any longer," he babbled. "Shall we, my dear?"

Marit grabbed him by the arm, kept him from leaving. "What's this about drakes babysitting us?"

"They're technically not babysitting, just making sure you're all right. Now if you'll excuse me-"

"Nice try, Alfred, but you're not in dragon form now. What in the name of the Sundering is going on?"

"I can't tell you," he repeated wearily. "I shouldn't know it in the first place."

"Well, you do, so tough luck."

"The drakes know," Haplo pointed out, trying to reason with the fool man.

"Of course. They have their own ways of knowing things."

The grinding of Marit's teeth was audible on Abarrach. "Spill the beans, Sartan. Now."

But Alfred shook his head. "You'll find out soon enough. Possibly even before Erri and I get back. Then you'll understand."

"_What_ will we find out?"

No answer.

"Alfred-"

He slumped. "I'm sorry, but I can't in good conscience tell you."

Haplo arched a brow. "You can't in good conscience tell me why you're treating your two best friends like invalids? You're worried about something. Of course Marit and I want to know what's scaring you."

The Sartan blushed, ducked his head. "No, I'm just overreacting." A sad, rueful smile. "I know in my mind that everything will be all right- there aren't any more necromancers. It's just that I've had some bad experiences with this and can't shake the utterly irrational feeling that something will go wrong. But it won't, because women go-" His jaw snapped shut with an audible click.

Haplo froze, stiff as a board. Beside him, Marit's head jerked up. One hand went to her stomach. Erri looked from man to wife and back. She smiled. "Congratulations."

Alfred took in their reactions and groaned.

"How did _you_ know before either of us?" Marit demanded.

"I smelled it," he explained, resigned. "When a woman gets with child, her scent changes enough for a dragon to pick the difference up. Remember how we fought yesterday morning when I was trying to take the drake captive? I smelled it even then."

Well, that would explain why he'd fought even more carefully than usual.

The poor Sartan continued his explanation, utterly miserable. "At first I thought you knew, but then you said that we were still going on the Run today. That was when I realized that neither of you had any idea. And since I'm neither the mother nor the father, I didn't think it would be right for me to tell you the good news."

"Quit apologizing," Haplo ordered automatically. He had moved closer to Marit, taken her free hand in his. A tiny smile crossed his face. A kid. Another kid. He did love his adoptive children- how could he not?- but there was always room for one more, especially if that one more had Marit's eyes and his smile.

Alfred, realizing that his friends weren't angry, perked up. "As Erri said, congratulations. Both of you." He opened his arms, silently asking permission to hug them. The couple nodded.

Erri let the friendship moment play out in silence, slightly jealous of their closeness but not envious enough to ruin it. When they pulled away, she coughed politely. Alfred, blushing, turned towards her. "Shall we be off, then?"

"Of course."

* * *

The day after Alfred and Erri left, Haplo and Marit managed to talk their 'babysitters' out of babysitting. "I've been pregnant before," the woman assured them. "Believe me, I know how to take care of myself."

"All right," sighed Patrick, the drake in charge of their welfare. "But if he takes umbrage at this, I will be blaming you."

"Somehow, I'm not particularly afraid of Alfred."

The drake's lips quirked up. "You should be. Didn't he once drive off an entire army of dragon-snakes?"

Marit waved a negligent hand. "Those were dragon-snakes. Alfred would never do anything like that to us. He loves us."

Patrick nodded, acknowledging her words as true.

"I'm more concerned about the kids," Haplo joked. "Who knows how they'll react to their new sibling?" But he wasn't really worried. The orphans knew that each and every one of them had a special spot in their family's hearts (at least, he hoped they knew so). No quantity of children could ever change that.

And, indeed, the children were thrilled. None of them were quite that young- Haplo and Marit were gone too often to take in babies, and Alfred was utterly terrified of dropping a helpless babe (he was a great deal less clumsy than he'd been, but old paranoia died hard) on its head- and they were looking forward to an actual infant in the house. As long as the adults were responsible for changing it, of course. Patryns were stoic and hardy, but few people actually liked cleaning babies.

Whenever he was approached, Haplo told the kids that he'd have Alfred whip up some spell that would keep the baby perpetually clean. If the man could kill the Labyrinth (as evidenced by the faint bite mark on his hand), then he was more than capable of making diaper duty irrelevant.

But, much to the adults' surprise, a few of the children were decidedly less than thrilled. Neither Haplo nor Marit could divine why. They received new orphans all the time, and the kids had never complained _then._

The drakes shed light on the situation, their ability to read emotions coming in handy once more. "The children are afraid that once you have a scion of your own blood, you won't love them as much," Patrick explained. "Not to mention they know you won't be able to pay as much attention to them. This, of course, makes them angry with themselves as well, for they know that Patryns aren't supposed to feel this way. Your people don't think highly of jealousy for parental affection."

"Where," Marit demanded incredulously, "in the worlds did they get that idea?"

"They know that you took them in as part of your efforts to find your birth daughter. Of course they are concerned about this child."

Well, all right. That did make a bit of sense. They had no idea what to do about it, but it did make sense.

Surprisingly, Alfred came to their rescue once he returned from the Labyrinth. After his Patryn friends told him which kids were most concerned about losing their love, he struck up a conversation with those children. The exact contents of the conversations varied, but they boiled down to reassurances that yes, Haplo and Marit would love _all _their children equally even after the latest 'brother or sister' had been born.

"This is why I love being the grandfather," he confessed to the other adults of the house. "I don't have to worry about them being jealous of my children, because I don't have any and never w- what are you laughing at?" For the Patryns were indeed laughing. Probably at him, he thought.

Marit recovered first. Still grinning, she explained, "You're a serpent mage."

"What's so funny about that?"

Husband and wife exchanged amused glances. Marit continued, "So your children would be enormously powerful."

"I don't have any," he pointed out.

"Yet," Marit retorted. "Sooner or later some enterprising woman will decide she wants a child powerful enough to make the dragon-snakes cower in fear. Especially since you're the last of your bloodline. And your stunts with killing the Labyrinth and Royal One didn't help."

Alfred squeaked, eyes about to pop out of his head. "That's- that's-"

"In the Labyrinth," Haplo informed him solemnly, eyes bright with suppressed laughter, "it's considered a strong mage's duty to sire as many children as possible. That way the next generation will carry some of his strength."

The poor Sartan looked ready to resurrect his old habit of fainting.

"What we're trying to say," Marit finished, "is that you need to tell us exactly what you said to those kids, because sooner or later we'll have to give them the same talk."

Another squeak.

* * *

Once the children recovered from their fear of losing love (and Alfred had recovered from his newfound terror of Patryn women), family life was fairly quiet. Haplo and Marit grumbled a bit about not being allowed into the Labyrinth, but they both understood the necessity. They were a bit miffed that Alfred was still making Runs- the kid will need his/her grandfather too- but the Sartan was stubborn. He didn't make quite as many Runs, and the ones he took weren't too long, but that didn't stop Haplo from grumbling about hypocrisy.

In Alfred's defense, he stopped Running altogether in the last month before the child's birth. But once he'd stopped his journeys, the other adults found themselves wishing that he hadn't.

Alfred had grown up in an era of declining birthrates- meaning that stillbirths and miscarriages had been exceedingly common during his childhood and young adulthood. He had lost no fewer than five nieces and nephews before they were born and strongly suspected that he'd lost an unknown sibling that way as well- there was a five-year age gap between him, the baby of the family, and his sister. Things had gotten so bad that the Sartan of Arianus came to dread pregnancies, believing that they would only end in tragedy.

Even though Alfred knew now that the deaths had been a result of necromancy, not any natural causes, and that Marit was therefore in no danger of losing her child, he couldn't help worrying about her. This worry manifested itself in several rather annoying ways: whenever Marit tried to do something, she would find that Alfred had already done it. The Sartan took over all her daily tasks, fetched her food and drink before she knew she was hungry or thirsty. He watched her incessantly, flinching involuntarily whenever a child touched her bulging stomach.

"Knock it off," Haplo commanded. "For your own sake, if not for hers. She's about ready to murder you. Smothering the mother isn't going to help the kid." Alfred looked ready to protest, so Haplo rolled his eyes and added, "The way you carry on, I'd almost suspect I wasn't the father."

That, of course, changed Alfred's protest into a filthy glare. Haplo just chuckled.

But it turned out that their conversation was practically irrelevant, for two days later, Marit gave birth.

When it was over, the exhausted but blissful woman leaned back and muttered, "I'd forgotten how much that hurt."

"It looked painful," Haplo agreed. He wanted to go comfort her, but duty constrained him. It was the father's (or the headman's, if the father wasn't present. But that obviously wasn't applicable) job to give the infant its first tattoo, the name-rune above its breast. He finished the last line. "There. Done."

It had taken him a long, long time to find the perfect name for his son. In the end, he and Marit had decided on the Patryn word for 'gate.' The name referenced so much: that the child was safe, having been born beyond the Final Gate; that both his parents had traveled through Death's Gate; that Haplo had felt the power of the Seventh Gate. But it also looked towards the future, for what were gates but the opening of a thousand possibilities?

And it didn't hurt that Kordel sounded an awful lot like Coren.

Marit smiled at the rune on her son's breast. "Give him to me," she ordered her husband.

"Of course." Haplo handed the mewling child over. "Shall I go tell the family?"

"I think they know," Marit noted, inclining her head to the slightly open door. A pair of guilty children entered the room, their eyes riveted on the baby. "He has your nose," one informed Haplo.

The Patryn seized his opportunity. "I think he has his big sister's ears, don't you?"

The girl touched her ears, beaming. "He does!"

The other child, not wanting to be left out, added, "And my chin."

Their chins had nothing in common, but Haplo dutifully nodded. "I think he looks like all his siblings."

"Yeah," the girl agreed, batting aside a lock of her new brother's short brown hair. "He does."

* * *

'Drake' is what I call the dragons of Pryan. It helps differentiate them from the dragon-snakes and real dragons. 'Kordel' is an actual human name. It actually means 'cord maker,' but it sounded kind of like 'portal' (kind of) and 'Coren,' so I let that slide. Just pretend it really does mean 'gate.'

Fluffy family fluff is fluffy, no? Even in a family as weird as this one. Huzzah for fluff!

As for the scene where Haplo and Marit explain the facts of life to Alfred... Yeah. Kind of weird. But the sad thing is, I can really see some very practical Patryn woman deciding that despite his unfortunate Sartan-ness, Alfred would be a good catch. Especially if you take bottlenecking into account. But... yeah. Besides, Alfred deserves a love who doesn't die on him. And is it just me, or would tiny Montbanks be the cutest babies ever? Once again, yeah. My mind is so weird. I suppose you could consider this a challenge, if you wanted, but otherwise... Um, bye!

-Antares


	10. Namesake

Less than a week after the Battles of Abri and the Final Gate, Haplo had been asked by approximately one thousand, two hundred and thirty-seven Patryns just _why_ they were suddenly all buddy-buddy with their ancestral enemies. After the first hundred or so queries, the Runner had begun throwing up his hands and snapping, "It's a long story, okay?"

Because it _was_. It started on Arianus and looped through all seven of the worlds, intersecting with other stories and other races with their own unique histories. He couldn't possibly summarize his (and Alfred's) complex emotional, physical, and spiritual journeys in five minutes or less.

"You should write a book," the Sartan advised, watching Questioner #1237 stalk away. "You wrote several journals in the elemental worlds, didn't you? You should duplicate them, give them to whoever asks."

Haplo considered. "I haven't written anything since my last stop on Arianus. I was too busy trying to keep you alive."

Alfred blushed. "Oh. I'm s- um, perhaps you could scrawl something down while they're reading the journals you've already written?"

"We'll break you of that habit yet," his friend murmured, lips quirking in a tiny smile.

Alfred's plan was a good one. It kept the questioners busy- for a while. Then they came back for more. Not just more details on what had happened after Arianus- minor things like _why Xar and Samah were dead and the Sartan had taken up camp on the other side of the Nexus-_ but more about the mensch worlds themselves.

And so Haplo found himself thrust into the role of best-selling author, biographer, and memoirist.

He had help, of course. Alfred could obviously provide information about his own adventures. Hugh had told them about his experiences while they were imprisoned in the time well. Zibnab's dragon related the story of the Redleafs and Quinindiars, both before and after Haplo's encounters with them. Balthazar had kept his own journal while journeying through Abarrach, and Grundle's diary had survived the Nexus fires.

But with so many people involved in the production of a book series, the Patryn was bombarded on all sides by requests to gloss over this or neglect to mention that. Sometimes he gave into their suggestions- he was _not_ publishing Alfred's Sartan name where any dragon-snake could find it- but usually, he put his foot down. A typical conversation went something like this:

ALFRED: You make it sound like Orla and I had some- some grand romance going on. We didn't.

HAPLO: Yeah.

ALFRED: Then why are you-

HAPLO: You _were _in love, weren't you?

ALFRED (blushing): Well, yes, but-

HAPLO: It's staying in the book.

ALFRED: But-

HAPLO (flatly): I said it's staying.

And that was that.

Since most of the materials were already assembled, he found it fairly easy to compile them. In fact, all of the writing and editing was easy. The hardest part was finding names.

_Dragon Wing,_ for the ship he'd acquired on Arianus, the ship that had taken him all the way to Chelestra. _Elven Star,_ for the citadel that had later held Lord Xar captive, buying him and Marit and Alfred precious time. _Fire Sea,_ Abarrach's source of life. _Hand of Chaos,_ describing both him and Hugh. _Into the Labyrinth,_ because that was when they went… well… into the Labyrinth. _The Seventh Gate_ which had saved them all before Sang-drax destroyed it.

But try as he might, he couldn't come up with a suitable title for book four.

"Of course you can't," Marit said, when he took his complaints to her. "Chelestra wasn't exactly your finest hour, Haplo."

"_Seamoon?_" Alfred suggested. The Sartan was sitting across the room, scribbling notes on rune-magic. Balthazar's people had very little knowledge of their innate powers- they hadn't even known about the gift of tongues- and Alfred had somehow been elected their main teacher. "_Seasun Hunt?_"

"I just named a book after the sea," the Patryn pointed out.

"Something about the dog being missing, then?" Alfred shrugged skinny shoulders. "Or perhaps something about dragon-snakes, as they- no, you already have a book with 'dragon' in the title. Hmm." He tapped his chin, lost in thought.

"You could name it _Love Stories,_" Marit suggested wryly. "If I remember correctly, there were at least three in that book."

Alfred went scarlet. "It wasn't _about_ love stories," he said stiffly. "It was about discovering internal and worldly truths, about friendship and compassion and courage, about battling the evil within us and the evil manifested in the dragon-snakes. It was about-"

"You," Haplo interrupted. "Because in all honesty, Coren, I didn't do much on Chelestra until the dog came back."

"That's not true. You saved brought the royalty back, you kept Prince Devon from killing himself, you helped the mensch on their journey. Then you fought Samah to save the poor children's lives."

"What did any of those things have to do with 'discovering internal and worldly truths, friendship and compassion and courage' and all that jazz?"

The Sartan found himself unable to answer.

"Maybe a reference to the climax of the book?" Marit suggested, steering them back on topic.

"That's it!" Alfred exclaimed, triumphant. "You can call it _Royal One!_"

Dead silence greeted his proclamation. In Marit's case, the silence was due to disbelief at Alfred's ridiculous idea. In Haplo's case, it was because he was thinking.

_Name a book after a character, eh?_ he thought, smirking. _Why Coren, I do believe you're onto something. _

"Good idea," he said, without a trace (okay, maybe a tiny one) of sarcasm.

Marit's expression clearly indicated that she was questioning his sanity. "You're _not _going to name it _Royal One."_ Her tone allowed no argument.

"Of course not," the other Patryn snorted. "That's a horrible name. I'm calling the book _Serpent Mage._"

He waited. Five, four, three, two, one.

"What?" Alfred squeaked, eyes bulging. Then, "Is that a joke? Because it's not funny."

"No joke, my friend. It's your book, your story, even more than any of the others. Why shouldn't I name it after you?"

"Because it feels arrogant," the Sartan replied immediately.

Haplo snorted. "You, arrogant? That's the stupidest thing I've heard in my life."

"He has a point," Marit acknowledged. "And it's a lot better than _Royal One._" She shook her head derisively, making her opinion of _that _particular title abundantly clear.

"What's wrong with- oh, I see. But really, Haplo?"

The Patryn scrawled the runes onto the cover of his book. "Really."

"…But I don't want you to. If you're going to name something after me, you should do it with my permission or not at all." He folded his arms, attempted to look resolute.

"You won't _give_ your permission, though," his friend grumbled.

"Exactly! And it's so- so- show-off-ish."

"You could do with a bit more showing off," was the Patryn's dry response.

Alfred scowled, huffed indignantly. "I disagree."

"Good for you."

"Haplo-"

"Go for it," Marit interrupted. Looking at Alfred, she added, "I thought that you'd accepted your title?"

"I have- or at least I'm trying my best- but there's no need to name a book after me. There really isn't." He proceeded to launch into a long, hastily improvised list of reasons why _Serpent Mage_ was a horrible title for any book, especially one wherein he, Alfred Montbank, was a main character. The Patryns listened silently until their Sartan friend ran out of excuses.

Smiling slightly, Haplo inscribed the cover of his fourth book with the human words _Serpent Mage._ He began to chant a duplication spell.

"Haplo," Alfred whined, "please don't."

The Patryn ignored him.

"Think of it this way," Marit advised. "The dragon-snakes will be even less happy about the title than you are."

"That's supposed to _comfort_ me?" Alfred wasn't buying it.

Haplo hefted the first pile of books. "I need to deliver these to the readers."

Alfred planted himself firmly at the threshold of the door. "Not until you change the title," he proclaimed stubbornly. "Bad enough that you overdo my feelings for Orla- you realize that Ramu will have even more reason to hate me now? I flatly refuse to let you publish anything named after me."

"You're being ridiculous," Haplo informed him.

"No, you are." Alfred folded his arms, attempted to look intimidating. It didn't work very well.

"When's the last time you bragged about something?" Haplo asked.

Alfred thought for a while but was unable to answer. He honestly couldn't remember. There had been moments where he felt powerful, capable, worthy of the gifts he'd been granted, but he hadn't boasted about those moments. Only Haplo was aware that such instances had existed, and he hadn't been told. Finally he admitted, "I think it was when I was courting Lya. The attempt didn't go so well- I remember her laughing at me."

"So nine hundred years ago, give or take." Haplo was grinning.

Marit, too, was extremely amused. "If that's the case, you're long overdue. You need to show off some."

The Sartan still didn't seem convinced, but he was smart enough to realize that the Patryns wouldn't listen to his I-don't-want-to-show-off argument. He changed tactics: "Why don't you name it after yourself, Haplo? Or perhaps Alake, make it a tribute to her." He really did like the second idea. He should have suggested it right away.

The Patryn actually hesitated. Alfred pressed his advantage. "We didn't even know what my title meant until we were in Abri, but Alake's identity was clear from the start. Or name it after Grundle or Devon."

Marit frowned. "Are any of their titles even mentioned in the book?"

"I don't think so," Haplo admitted. "So _Serpent Mage _it is."

Alfred sighed.

Haplo grimaced. "This is supposed to be a compliment, you know," he pointed out.

"I know," the glum older man replied.

Not many people could make Haplo feel guilty, but Alfred had a gift for it. "If you hate it that much, my friend, I can change the title."

Alfred perked up. He opened his mouth, intent on getting rid of the wretched name, then stopped, grimaced. "It's your book," he mumbled. "And… thank you. It _is_ a compliment." The Sartan was clearly trying to convince himself.

Haplo chuckled. He chuckled even more when _Serpent Mage _became the most popular of the four books yet released.

* * *

Well, of course _Serpent Mage _is the most popular yet. It has epic dragon fight scenes and the Royal One gets pwned. How awesome is that?

Haplo's right, Alfred- you could do with a lot more showing off.

-Antares


End file.
